I know that you love me. We tried to be something that we weren't.
I loved having a real life with you. I loved doing adult things that made me feel empowered and legitimate. I loved the way you kissed me before you left for work. I wanted that so bad and you gave it to me. I didn't understand why ... I didn't feel the way I wanted someone like that to make me feel. I didn't want you to be my husband. Impossible.
I felt like your friend. But that wasn't all. I was also less of a friend than she was. We were supposed to be in different categories. I wasn't supposed to be able to lose to her. I thought you loved me in a different way, but it was the same, and I would always be lesser than. And that hurt in a way I don't think you understood. I know that she told you what to say to me. I played along and tried not to think about it.
I miss you. I do love you, in a way. I want the real life I convinced myself we had. I'm terrified of persuing something else that seems less stable. Anyone else. That must be love.
You cried for me. I don't know you lose when I leave.